


If You Go Down To The Woods Today

by milkyway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Blood and Gore, Domestic Derek and Stiles, Established Relationship, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff, Gen, Horror, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Monsters, One Shot, Revisionist Fairy Tale, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway/pseuds/milkyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You should be careful about talking to strangers in the forest. Particularly if you're the monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Go Down To The Woods Today

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't be a TW Fanfic author if I didn't have my own take on Little Red Riding Hood.

The mist whirls around the young man’s feet as he walks. It is freezing; the last cold light of the day quickly fading in the west as the forest grows thicker. He pulls his red hoodie tightly around himself and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he carries along the tiny footpath.

“Where are you going?" 

The voice curls through the mist like ink in water.

The young man tenses, and turns around. He stares into a pair of yellow eyes that seem to be floating next to one of the trees. 

“To my friend’s house,” the young man says cautiously. 

“It’s rather dangerous to be walking alone in the woods after dark.”

In the half-light, he can make out the form: seven foot tall, hairy, claws at the end of where the fingertips should be.

“For some,” the young man says, shrugging.  

The creature steps out onto the path, but the brunet stays rooted to the ground, merely sniffing the air and then pulling up his nose as the stench of rotten flesh hits him.

“And what have you got there?” it asks, staring at the backpack slung over the man’s shoulder.

“I’ve brought my friend some food. He’s ill.”

“You’re a good friend,” the creature says, blinking. “Aren’t you afraid?” 

“Not particularly.” 

The creature grins, and there is a flash of gnarled yellow teeth. “You know, I think I know where your friend lives. I could show you a short-cut.”

The young man looks almost bored. “Why not,” he says, shrugging.

“Follow me.” 

He walks behind the slouching shaggy form, hearing the bushes snap as it tramples through the undergrowth. The incline of the ground starts sloping away from them; presently they are in a small valley. He can hear the sound of water rushing in the distance; he can just make out a crop of tall boulders in front of him.

“I don’t think this is the way to my friend’s house,” says the young man. 

“You’re very astute,” it says. “This is _my_ house. I thought I’d give you a little something before you go on your way.”

“And what would that be?”

The creature turns around, its eyes glowing bright. “Me,” it says, and bares its teeth. 

It snarls and leaps. 

But its filthy fangs find no purchase on sweet human flesh. Instead there is a great flash of blue-white light, scissoring out of the young man’s outstretched hands.

The creature roars and falls back, and before it can get up there is a sickening thud as the brunet swings the bat at the monster’s head. There is the crack of bone against metal. Blood and slime splash the man in the face.

It lunges at him, only to be blasted in the face by another bolt of light. 

The creature screeches in pain.

_“What are you ?”_  

“Someone you should have thought twice about bringing to your lair. Now tell me, where are they?” 

“What are you talking about?” it manages to hiss through the gurgles of blood pouring out of its mouth.

“The children,” says the young man. “Or would you like some more of this?”

He puts the bloodied bat down. Blue light arcs between his hands. 

“Behind that rock,” it says, pointing with a great gnarled claw. “There is a hole in the ground where I’ve kept them.” 

The young man steps towards the creature, and brings his face right up to the bloodied pulp of its visage. 

“Good,” he says, and cracks his knuckles. 

“Are you going to kill me know?” the monster growls. 

“No,” says the brunet, and points to one of the rocks where a muscular form is perching. “My friend is.” 

The shape bounds toward them and lands deftly between the young man and the creature. Its claws and fangs are clean and graceful against the monster’s filthy appendages. 

“ _It can’t be!_ ” the creature screeches.  

The young man rolls his eyes. “Why are wendigos always so melodramatic?” 

“Don’t know,” the werewolf replies to his mate. “Can I just finish him off already? You go free the children and call the police.” 

“Fine. Are you going to slash his throat or tear him to pieces?”

“Haven’t thought about that yet,” says the werewolf, grinning. “Whichever’s the most painful. This is a child-killer.” 

“ _How can this be happening?”_ the creature manages. Its voice is weak, frightened. _“Who… who are you?_ ”

The werewolf grins, his fangs sharp and beautiful. “Why, he’s Little Red Riding Hood and I’m his mate, the Big Bad Wolf. And we don’t like monsters scaring children in our lovely forest.” 

He pounces on the monster, claws outstretched. Screams pierce through the night air as he rips, shreds, slices, until there is only a pile of hairy meat on the forest floor.

Derek pants, and wipes his face. “Is that unrecognisable enough?” he asks, pointing to his handiwork. 

Stiles shines his torch onto the grisly dismembered body. “Should be. The authorities won’t be able to make head or tail of it… literally." 

“Bad pun,” Derek says with a little smile. “I guess I should head home; I’ll frighten the children if they see me. What did you bring for supper?”

“Chinese,” says Stiles, tossing him the backpack. “So we can reheat it. I’m going to be at least two hours making statements and making sure they’re all safe.”

“Did you get sweetcorn and chicken soup?” the werewolf asks with a hopeful expression.

“Of course. And pork dumplings. I always do when you have a cold.”

“I’d kiss you, but you’ll push me away because I’m full of wendigo-gunk.”

Stiles chuckles. “Go home already, Big Bad. I’ll see you later.”

The five children are frightened and cold, but unhurt. Stiles’s ward helps them forget their ordeal; the official story was that the boy scout leader was mauled by a wild animal and the children got lost in the woods. Only the Sheriff knows the truth that his son and his werewolf mate saved them from becoming a monster’s dinner. They will have a few nightmares, but they will forget them, and grow up like normal children.

But sometimes, when the Moon is full, they will dream of a young man and a wolfman in the forest, walking together as friends, chasing away monsters. And when they tell their own children the old fairy tales, they will feel odd when they read of the Big Bad Wolf, and sense, somehow, that the storytellers got it wrong.

Back at the house in the woods, Stiles snuggles up to his mate, enveloped in his warmth. The werewolf smells of soap and clean linen. The remains of the takeout is spread in front of them.

“You were pretty brutal,” says Stiles. 

“I had a headache. Colds always make me irritable.”

“I find it so funny that werewolves can get colds but can heal broken bones in seconds.”

“Shut up and hand me an eggroll.”

“It’s the last one. Then I get to choose what movie we watch next.”

“I thought we were starting Season 4 of _Downton Abbey._ ”

“Fine, fine,” Stiles says, and gets the egg roll. “Here, Fido,” he quips, and tosses it towards his mate.

Derek catches it deftly between his teeth and gulps it down. They both burst out laughing.

“Dog jokes are _terribly_ middle-class,” Derek says in his best Maggie Smith impersonation.

The werewolf’s smile is utterly adorable. Stiles pounces on him, and kisses his mate before laying his head back on his muscular chest.

The forest is safe again.


End file.
